Repossession
by CaptainEvie
Summary: After a world-wide epidemic, Russia makes organ transplants easily available through a financial plan. Just be sure to keep up with your payments... -First posted story. Based on the concept of REPO! The Genetic Opera. NOT A CROSSOVER.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Geez, I hope I'm doing this right TT^TT Alright, this is something I wrote out on a whim after watching REPO! The Genetic Opera. Constalina helped me so much with the plot and character decisions 3 I'm still not sure where I'm going with this story, but here we go...**

**WARNING: This story is rated M for graphic violence and some language. Discretion is advised.**

**I would really appreciate a beta reader for this story, if anyone's interested (this chapter is currently un-beta'd) Just send me a message if you're interested.**

* * *

He shouldn't have ignored the letters. He knows that now.

The man runs through the back alleys of the city, sweating pouring down his forehead. He's not supposed to exert this much energy, but he has to get away. His time is up. They're coming for him soon.

They can't actually find him, can they?

He turns a corner and slides to the floor, panting heavily. He can feel his blood pounding in his ears. He brings a hand to his chest, fingers lightly touching the long scar that resides there. After a few minutes of unending silence, the man breathes a sigh of relief. Perhaps they've given up. Perhaps he'll live.

"Hello there. Are we done running away now?"

The man's heart skips a beat. Then again, perhaps he was never safe at all.

A tall figure walks out from the shadows, his long uniform coat billowing in the slight breeze. His blue eyes, shielded behind a small pair of glasses, are cold and void of any emotion save for a vague amusement. He carries a silver case in his left hand, imprinted with the Company's logo on the side.

As the stranger walks closer, the man struggles to find his voice. "Pl-please. Don't do this! Please, you can't do this!" He attempts to move away as the stranger comes closer, but his back is already up against the wall and there is nowhere else for him to go. He is trapped.

The stranger wags his finger as if scolding a small child, his face remaining expressionless. "Now now, we gave you a two-week grace period, remember? You're still 500 short on your payments." He kneels in front of the trembling man and begins to unlatch the briefcase. "And you know what that means, don't you?"

The man's heart races wildly. "No, no!" he begs. "Please don't do this! I-I can get the money, I swear! I just need a little more time!"

The stranger takes out a surgical mask and a scalpel from the case. He smirks as he pulls the elastic bands around his ears, fitting the mask snugly to his face. "I'm afraid it's too late for that." He raises the scalpel.

The man's eyes widen in terror. "No… Please no…"

"Your heart is mine."

With one swift stroke, the Repo man brings the blade down and slices the man from collarbone to navel. He watches the man gape down at the expertly-cut incision, blood already beginning to seep into his shirt. His face pales and he whimpers weakly, too stunned to scream.

"Now," the Repo man says as he pulls what's left of the man's shirt aside. "I'm actually legally obligated to ask you if you'd like a painkiller before the procedure, but-" his mouth turns into a nasty grin, the first sign of true emotion he'd shown"-I suppose I've skipped a step, haven't I?"

His mocking words shake the man out of his shock and he begins to scream loudly. In an instant, the Repo man punches him square in the jaw, knocking his head back into the brick wall and rendering him unconscious. The man's head lulls forward with a moan.

The Repo man smirks as he raises the scalpel once more. "Or that works too." He begins to cut away at the man's chest muscles until he reaches his heart. Technically it was never his heart; rather, it belonged to the Company. The man had simply "borrowed" it for the time being.

The Repo man put down his scalpel and reached into the man's chest cavity with both hands, pulling the still-beating heart away from its temporary home with a sickening pop. The man jerks violently and a trickle of blood escapes his lips as his means of life support is ripped out of him. Blood gushes from the open wound and the man becomes still at last.

With a sniff, the Repo man glances at the man's paperwork and checks the barcode on the synthetic organ to make sure it corresponds with their records. He then seals the organ into a small plastic bag and places it inside the case. He removes his mask and bloodied gloves to stick them inside as well, along with the scalpel. To add insult to injury, he leaves a small note explaining the circumstances and reason for his repossession. As if it mattered for him anymore.

The Repo man stands up only to have his beeper go off. He glances at the number with a sigh. He is needed immediately for debriefing on his next assignment. His boss is a rather impatient man and it would be unwise to keep him waiting. With a scowl, he turns his back on the man's fresh corpse and walks away, leaving it to be found later by some unfortunate soul.

If anyone saw what transpired there in the alley, they weren't going to tell anyone. No, they were too afraid for their own lives to cross paths with a Repo man. The ability to ignite fear in everyone else seemed to be guaranteed with the job title.

As he begins his journey back to the Company's headquarters, Alfred reminds himself once more that what he did was just a job. Just a job and nothing more.

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**Reviews are appreciated but unnecessary :3**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: First off, big thanks to StarGazer453 for being such a wonderful beta ;3; It took me a while to decide just how long this chapter should be, but I think it'd be wise to take it slow. Might be a while before another chapter as I'm most likely going out of town this weeked, but I promise I'll get to the good part eventually.**

**Also, I think there's been a bit of confusion: This is NOT a crossover. It is based off the concepts of REPO! The Genetic Opera (and a bit of Repo Men), but it does not follow the plot at all and none of the characters are made to represent any roles in either movie (sorry, no GraveRobber for you :T)**

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No one really remembers when exactly the "great disaster" began. Some say it had been incubating for a few years and chose to slowly present itself over time. Others claim it happened quite suddenly sometime around 2016. They say it was caused by biochemical warfare or some sort of mutated virus. Whatever the reason or cause, it was fact that the whole world ended up being affected by the disaster.

It was, in the simplest of definition, an extensive case of organ failure that occurred on a global scale. A terrible disease of unknown origin that took the lives of nearly half the world's population. Not everyone was affected in the same way, but once contracted one only lasted a month at most. Searches for a cure proved fruitless and the death tolls rose higher and higher with each passing week. Many claimed it was the end of the world.

Not even the nations were safe from its wrath.

It didn't prove to be much of a surprise when Liechtenstein fell victim to the disease. But when Germany and other stronger nations became ill, others began to worry. It seemed the epidemic wasn't picky about its victims, be they weak or strong. Granted, they soon learned that the nations were taking longer to die from the lethal symptoms, but no one wanted to figure exactly how much time they had left.

It seemed as though all hope had been lost when one man stepped forth like an angel from the darkness.

Ivan Braginski, Russian scientist and the personification of Russia itself, presented the world with his own "cure" for the disease: synthetic organs. Biogenetically programmed to perfectly match any patient's DNA and guaranteed to be 10 times more functional than real organs, the Russian's designs were a revolutionary concept for the practice of organ donation. This science fiction technology-made-real seemed to be the answer to the world's prayers. Ivan soon opened up his own business firm known simply as the Company. With the apparent success of his research, he quickly rose to multi-millionaire status in no time at all. The Nation was regarded as a "savior to mankind" by many people. A small group, however, remained skeptical of Russia's intentions. They suspected there had to be some sort of catch to his motives.

In exchange for his designs to be put into production, Ivan had proposed a law to be passed that would make organ repossessions legal. As bizarre as it seemed, no one put much thought into his peculiar proposition since the world was running on borrowed time as it were, so the U.N. passed the law quickly and without argument. Perhaps they could've noticed the inevitable outcome of his plan before it was too late, but rash decisions are often made in times of crisis.

Once his Company was established, there arose another issue that should have been spotted by at least one observant person. It soon became obvious that the synthetic organ procedures would cost quite a lot of money, and only a small handful of people in the world could afford the entire cost of the surgery and extensive medical bills. Even during an international crisis, people complained about the high prices of his business. Once again, Ivan stepped forth with another solution to the dilemma.

He called it a financial plan of sorts. If necessary - and most cases were - one could pay for the cost through monthly installments. Of course, not everyone was able to keep up with their payments. Reasons for missed payments ranged from lost jobs to poor economy to just skipping out on the bills altogether. After exactly three months of missed payments and a two-week "grace period", the organ in question was forfeited and scheduled for repossession. It's difficult to pinpoint when exactly the first repossession occurred or even who the unlucky victim was, but it made national headlines. The other countries were outraged and many protested to put the Russian behind bars.

Until they remembered the law they had so foolishly passed.

The damage had already been done and repossessions, though unspeakably cruel, became a part of life. Ivan Braginski still held onto his fame, but the views towards him had changed from revered awe to disgusted horror. Nations were the first to realize that this had been his plan from the very beginning. In one fell swoop, Russia had ended one disaster and created another in its wake. He had played his part well and now reaped the benefits of his sick and twisted plan.

Now in the present day, the epidemic has come to a stop. People are no longer getting sick, but the aftereffects of the disease will always remain. Besides providing surgeries for the last few victims of the disease plus the average number of transplant patients in the world, the Company now offers cosmetic surgeries that change the concept of beauty altogether. Ear and eye modifications, advanced plastic surgeries and many other bizarre procedures that could be done to one's body for a few easy payments and a signed contract.

Nations such as England and China are still working on a way to destroy Russia's business and rid the world of organ repossessions. They've made countless claims and arguments that the practice is unethical, that the victims are not given any warning to their fate. But Ivan always smiles and points out that each patient is given a contract that they must read and sign before the procedure, and that the possibility of repossession is clearly stated in each contract.

And everyone reads the fine print, right?

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***shiver* That last line is just so chilling. I wonder, who in your mind do you see narrating this chapter? **


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Not much to say, besides that this one took forever to write ; Every time I read a review for this story, it makes me so happy! I'm so excited that many of you have shown such interest in this weird-ass story ;3; And I promise that I will answer all of your questions in later chapters, including how Alfred became a Repo Man ;D **

**Enough rambling! Enjoy this super long chappie~**

* * *

America stands at the front doors of the Company with a grimace on his face. If Russia wants to speak with him, he knows it can't be good news for him. With a sigh, he opens the ornate glass doors and walks inside.

The lobby is set up like some ritzy big-name business office, not a place that can save you from death and disease. It unnerves Alfred that Ivan treats this like a business rather than a medical procedure. He walks up to the front desk, where Lithuania sits glancing over some paperwork. The brunette, who acts as the secretary of this evil place, is perhaps the only person that Alfred enjoys seeing each day. He glances up from his paper and notices Alfred, giving the man a warm smile.

"Ah, Mr. America. Good afternoon," he says politely.

"Hey Toris. How's everything been?"

Lithuania shrugs and staples a couple of pages together. "Not much excitement here, I'm afraid. Mr. Russia is expecting you, though. "

Alfred sighs dejectedly. "Right. Can't keep the Grim Reaper waiting." Toris offers an apologetic smile but says nothing. It makes Alfred wonder why the obviously sensible nation would willingly go along with his boss's insane ideas.

He bids Lithuania farewell and steps into the elevators. Russia's office is on the top floor of the main building, and few people ever get the privilege of going there.

The Company itself is actually a complex that consists of two buildings: one is the main office where consultations and meetings are held, and the other is the medical facility, where the actual procedures take place. There is a Company complex established in every major city in the world. But it makes sense, of course, that the actual headquarters is stationed in Moscow. The Russian headquarters also contain a laboratory located under the main office building; this is where the synthetic organs are made, analyzed and eventually returned as well.

On an average day of work, Alfred would report to his own Company building in Washington, D.C. But every so often Russia will call him in for a personal meeting and he ends up having to travel to Moscow for a day. As the elevator doors slide open, he prays silently that the "meeting" will go by quickly.

* * *

Ivan sits behind the desk leisurely, looking over a few notes. He notices the other country enter in and puts the papers down, grinning happily. "Ah, America!" he greets in a voice far too young for his appearance. "Добро пожаловать, comrade, come in."

Alfred closes the elaborate office door and walks up to the big desk at the other end of the room. Ivan leans forward in his chair, positioning himself in a more business-like manner. Directly behind him stand Ukraine and Belarus, the Russian's sisters. For his own selfish protection, the two have become his body guards. Both women stand motionless in matching uniforms with rather large guns holstered to their hips. Their balanced stance reveals they are prepared to attack should the moment arise. The role fits Natalia pretty well, but to Alfred, Katyusha has never seemed like the type to kill innocent people.

Then again, neither was he.

Alfred comes to stand about a foot away from the desk. Ivan continues to smile.

"I trust your assignment went well, да?" Without a word, the American lifts the case in his hand and drops it on the desk with a loud thump. Ivan's smile grows wider as he looks at the silver case. "Good! Excellent work, comrade." He presses a button on his desk's phone. In an instant, the doors burst open with a bang. A small blonde boy comes running into the room and ungracefully skids to a stop in front of Russia's desk. Trembling, he bows politely and clasps his hands together, waiting for orders.

"Latvia." The nervous nation flinches at the sound of his name. It makes Alfred seethe with hatred for the Russian. "Please take this to Estonia in the lab." Russia gestures toward the silver case. With a quick nod, Latvia grabs the handle and pulls the case off the desk. He struggles with its weight for a moment before quickly exiting the office.

Ivan smirks and focuses his attention back on the American. "I am very pleased by your recent performance, comrade. You are the finest Repo Man I have in my employment." The compliment is neither wanted nor appreciated. Alfred glares at him angrily. The childish smile remains on the Russian's face.

"Come now, America. Like it or not, you are rather skilled at your job. The least you could do is have a better attitude about it."

All is silent for a moment as his words sink in.

"You want me to 'have a better attitude' about killing people?" Alfred says through gritted teeth. His hands curl into fists at his side. "Do you actually think I enjoy this?"

Russia leans back and crosses his legs, calm and collected. "I don't think that at all. I know you enjoy it." He stares intently at the younger nation. "You and I have a lot in common, America."

Alfred slams his hands on the hardwood desk, causing Ukraine and Belarus to jump at the loud sound "You're wrong! There's no fucking way we have anything in common! I'm not some… psychotic murderer who sends others to do his dirty work!"

"But you are one of the ones doing the actual 'dirty work', no?" Ivan brings his fingertips together in a contemplative manner, an innocent quizzical look replacing the childish smile. "Doesn't that make you equally as bad?"

Alfred leans forward to get right in the Russian's face, his body tensing. Out of the corner of his eye, Natalia rests her hand over her gun. If his sisters weren't acting as Secret Service girls, he would tear the larger man limb from limb. "I despise what I do. I absolutely hate it," he says venomously to the other country. "But not as much as I hate you."

"Then leave."

Alfred's eyes widen as the Russian's eyes narrow. He wasn't expecting that at all. Ivan is no longer smiling.

"Leave. No one is making you stay here. You can walk out right now and be done with all this. I won't even stop you."

He says it so matter-of-factly it causes Alfred to stop and think. He stands back up straight, now unsure of himself. Russia sees this and smirks. "I can't leave," he mutters softly.

"I'm sorry, comrade, what was that?" Ivan puts a hand to his ear in mock deafness. "I'm afraid I couldn't hear you."

Alfred looks up and furrows his brow. "I said I can't leave. Don't play dumb, you know damn well why I can't, you commie bastard."

"You shouldn't be angry with me, America. You've no one to blame but yourself." The Russian smiles once again. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your emotions under better control in the future. That is all for today."

He waves his hand in dismissal and returns to his paperwork, leaving Alfred to stand there in stunned silence. With nothing more to say, the smaller nation turns and quietly leaves the office, his head hung slightly in defeat. He has lost this battle, but he knows there will be more. Oh yes, there will be more.

* * *

Matthew already has dinner cooking by the time Alfred finally arrives at home. The two North American brothers ended up living together to provide each other with help during the crisis. After the ordeal ended, they decided to remain that way for certain reasons. With the conversation from earlier still fresh on his mind, he shuts the front door with a sigh.

"Welcome home, Al!" his brother calls cheerfully from the kitchen. Alfred, now changed into his normal uniform, walks into the kitchen to find his twin standing in front of the stove, his back facing the other. Whatever he's cooking, it smells delicious. "How was your day at work?"

_I killed an innocent man and ripped out his still-beating heart_. "It was okay. You stay home again today?"

Matthew nods as he continues stirring the pot on the stove. It appeared to be some sort of beef stew. "Yeah, I couldn't get much done at work. What about you? You were out pretty late tonight." He reaches out to grab some salt, his back still turned to his brother.

_I had a fight with a blackmailing commie and I lost it_. "Oh, it was nothing. Just, you know, working overtime to help with the medical bills."

Matt turns around at last to face his brother and it always makes Alfred's heart seize up. The V-neck t-shirt his twin has on does absolutely nothing to hide the long pink scar. It runs down the middle of his chest like a tiny road, a perfect line of symmetry. For Alfred, it's a permanent reminder of what a horrible brother he is.

"Al, I've told you before," Matthew says, exasperated. "You don't have to do all that just for me. The bills really aren't that much." He looks at his brother with a sad smile. "I worry about you when you work hard."

Alfred walks over and places a hand on his brother's thin shoulder. He studies his younger twin's pale face. Matthew would never admit it, but the surgery took a lot out of him. He doesn't have the energy he used to and he often struggles to continue working normally. Thinking about all the Canadian has been through in the past couple of months causes Alfred to sigh heavily. Matthew gives his brother a worried looking, silently willing him to speak his mind. He knows something is bothering the other nation.

"Mattie, I'm your older brother and it's my job to worry about you, not the other way around." He gives him a smile, trying to lift the mood. "I don't mind helping you out, so let me help, ok?" He gives his shoulder a light squeeze and brushes past him to grab a plate from the pantry. "Geez, I am starving! Smells delicious."

And just like that, the discussion is over. Matthew frowns at his brother for a few seconds before moving to get his own plate. It's obvious Alfred is keeping something from him, but the younger nation decides to wait for him to bring it up on his own. After all, if it was really important, he'd tell his twin.

Right?

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_**Translations:**_

_**Добро пожаловать - Welcome**_

_** да - Yes**_

**Whew, that was a long chapter *dies* Ok, you all are probably getting a filler for the next chapter as I figure out where to go next. Also because I want some side stories in this epic X3. As always, reviews are appreciated but not necessary.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: My sincerest apologies for the delay. I had a catastrophic week and I had no time to sit down and write. But I promise I'm on a role now and the ideas are coming faster than I can type XD Anyway, this is the beginning of a side story that will follow along with the main story, but will hopefully give you another side of the plot (if that makes any sense?) **

**Enjoy~**

**MINOR EDIT: A big thanks to Believe Bridesmaid for correcting me on the German translations! Though I decided not to go for super bonus points *is lazy***

* * *

"No, hon, you've gotta believe me. I was never at the Plaza with Emily!"

The man fumbles for the keys to his apartment as he tries to console his furious girlfriend. She is yelling at him over the phone, shouting accusations. "No! Jess, she came onto me at that party," he protests as he unlocks the door. He drops his briefcase in the foyer and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto a chair.

"Yes, I know she's my ex, but I told you, I'm over her." His girlfriend, obviously doubting his word, continues to shout furiously into the receiver.

The man drops into one of his living room chairs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "No, Jessica. Baby, you know I love you."

A few minutes later the phone call ends with Jessica hanging up and the man angrily tossing his phone onto the floor. With a sigh, he closes his eyes and massages his temples. The day wasn't going so well for him.

A sudden thump from the back of the apartment jolts him from his thoughts.

"Who's there?" he says instinctively. The place is eerily quiet and the man gets that odd feeling that he's not alone. He carefully gets up and makes his way down the short hallway, stopping in front of the bedroom door. With a deep breath he grabs the knob and flings the door open to find…

Nothing.

The man breathes a sigh of relief. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. He's about to shut the door before another loud thump causes him to nearly jump out of his skin. This one sounded like it came from the living room. In a panic, he rushes to the closet in his room to find a makeshift weapon. A baseball bat is the closest thing he can grab. Swinging it behind his shoulders in a ready-to-attack position, the man makes his way back to the living room, praying that it's just his imagination at work.

"H-hey!" he yells shakily, hoping to maybe scare the intruder. "I don't know who's there, but you've got five seconds to get the hell out of here!"

A cocky voice answers back: "Is that any way to treat a guest?"

It causes him to pause. He was expecting gun shots or the sound of broken glass, not an answer back. The man's curiosity gets the better of him and he walks into the room. Again, he was expecting a mugger or a big tough guy with a knife… not an albino lounging on the couch with a smirk on his face.

"I mean, come on," Gilbert continues. "You all but invite me in by leaving the door unlocked and then you yell at me to get out? Not awesome, man." He sits up and grabs the silver case by his feet, rummaging through it. "But whatever, let's just get this over with."

As soon as he sees the case, the man knows what is going to happen. A deep sense of dread fills his chest as the realization hits him. He's going to die here. All alone.

A familiar ringtone interrupts the situation. Prussia rolls his eyes before reaching into his pocket. "Sorry, excuse me for one minute," he says to the man before flipping open the phone. "Hello?"

"Bruder?"

"Ah, West. Wie geht's?"

"Where are you, bruder? I thought you said you were coming over for dinner tonight."

Gilbert looks up at the man, still frozen in the doorway. 'Sorry', he mouths to him before turning around. "Yeah, no, I'll be there. What time did you say again?" The man, now out of his shock, sees this as a good distraction and runs forward to attack, the bat held high over his head. Just as he gets near, the Prussian reaches up and catches the bat in midair.

"I already told you. Dinner's at six. Which, in case you weren't aware, is in half an hour."

Prussia forces the bat down and wrestles it away from the man. "Shush," he whispers, irritated. "I'm on the phone, man." The man makes a grab at the bat, giving Gilbert the chance to spin him around and press the bat against his neck.

"Bruder? Was war das?"

Both men tumble to the ground, the albino tightening his chokehold while the other gags, attempting to break free.

"Nothing, West. Look, I'm a little busy right now but I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

The man continues to struggle, unable to breathe. He reaches out desperately, his hands searching for an escape.

"Gilbert, what are you doing?"

The albino can feel his prisoner beginning to slip out of consciousness, his movement slowing down. After a moment, the man's hands drop and his body relaxes with a light sigh. Gilbert gently pushes the man off of him and stands up, straightening his coat.

"Just a little extra work for my boss. No big deal."

Ludwig sighs exasperatedly. "Bruder, I've told you—"

"Hey, bro, it's all cool. You know I don't mind helping you out."

There's a long pause on the other end. Gilbert listens to his brother's steady breathing, a bit louder and more labored than the average person.

"Alright then, see you when you get here. Italy's making pasta, by the way."

The albino smiles. "Sounds good. Tchau, West." Gilbert hangs up the phone and sighs deeply. He hates lying to his little brother, but the German would be outraged if he knew of the things the Prussian was doing.

He forces himself to put those thoughts out of his mind. He's got a job to do after all. The albino picks up the still-open case and sets it on the coffee table, taking out a syringe and some papers.

"Ok then, Mr. …." Gilbert glances at the papers, "Schwartz. I am legally obligated or whatever to ask you if you'd like an anesthetic before the procedure." He looks over at the man, still unconscious from the earlier tussle, and shrugs. "Guess not."

Prussia gives him the shot anyway. A concoction of Russia's own design, the medicine not only works as an anesthetic but also a mild tranquilizer, so that the victim is temporarily paralyzed. They wouldn't be able to move or feel anything while the Repo men did their job. It was, in a way, perfect. Perfectly evil.

The Prussian went straight to work, cutting away the man's shirt and slicing a thin, clean line into his abdomen. The man, Schwartz, felt absolutely nothing as his body was torn open and invaded. Gilbert carefully located the genetically-modified liver inside the man, cutting it away from the rest of his digestive tract. He had no experience as a surgeon or anything, but he thought it better to be clean and precise unlike some of the other Repo men. He just didn't understand what was so exciting about ripping out someone's organs like a butcher. If they were going to die anyway, the least he could do is make it as painless and horrific as possible.

The man begins to come around as Gilbert is putting the organ into his case. His eyes open groggily and it's obvious that he's still disoriented, but realization soon spreads across his now pale face. The Prussian can only give him a blank look as he packs up the rest of his supply. He sees a mixture of emotions in the man's eyes: anger, hate, shock, confusion, fear, sadness. It only makes him feel worse.

"I know what you're thinking, and you're right," Gilbert says quietly. "But I'm only doing this for selfish reasons. Maybe I could've found another way, but this was the only option at the time."

The man coughs and a trickle of blood runs down the side of his mouth. "Your… only option… was murder?" he groans.

"Yes," Prussia admits. "There's no justification for what I'm doing. It's wrong, it's cruel, and I'm going to hell for it." He stares sadly at the dying man. "But I have to do this. For my brother."

Schwartz gives him a confused look. "Why… are you telling… me this?"

Gilbert closes the case and stands up. "Because I want you to know that I'm not like the others. That I'm not a cold-blooded killer." His handed tightened around the case's handle. "I don't enjoy this."

"Will it hurt?" The man looks at him fearfully, the finalization of the situation sinking in.

Prussia shakes his head. "You'll be long dead before the anesthesia wears off." This news doesn't do much to comfort as the man begins to cry.

"I don't want… to die alone."

Gilbert says nothing. He turns his back on the man and begins to walk away when a phone begins to ring. The albino checks his pocket, but it's not his phone this time. He spots the man's cell phone lying on the floor, still there from the earlier fight. He picks it up and clicks the 'accept call' button.

"Hey, Martin. It's Jessica. I'm calling to say I'm sorry about earlier, I shouldn't have said—"

"If you want to see Martin before he's dead, you'd better hurry. He doesn't have much time left. Don't call an ambulance." Gilbert hangs up and sets the phone on a nearby table. He heads out the door without looking back, praying that Martin Schwartz's soul will somehow pass on peacefully.

* * *

Translations:

Wie geht's? - How are you? (informal)

Bruder - Brother

Was war das? - What was that?

Tchau - Goodbye (informal)

**Hope I got the translations correct :L You know the drill: Reviews are appreciated, but not necessary ^^**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sincerest apologies for taking too damn long to update. This chapter has been my biggest writing block so far. No excuses, just finishing up school and a temporary loss of interest. Now that I'm out til January, I hope to update more often now. Big thanks to Star for getting this beta'd in less than a day.**

* * *

A few weeks ago, Alfred had been given a memo that told him to report to Company headquarters at the end of every two weeks to check in with Russia. So once a week, America had to waste his money on airfare to Moscow to talk face-to-face with his sick bastard of a boss. It quickly became a routine: Arrive in Moscow, be greeted at the front desk by Toris, talk with Russia, drop off that day's "quota", and return home to tell more lies to Matthew. It drove Alfred mad that he was powerless against the Russian, but he wasn't about to risk his brother's safety for anything.

Today, however, a different face is seated behind the front desk. America recognizes the young boy as Latvia, the shivering little midget that always comes at Ivan's beck and call. He seems a bit more relaxed today, quietly typing some information on the computer. Alfred wonders briefly where Lithuania is as he nears the front desk. Raivis takes notice of the American approaching and quickly stands up, almost tipping over the chair.

"A-ah, Mr. America! Hello," the younger nation greets. "H-how are you today?"

Alfred nods, wishing the Baltic nation wasn't so skittish. "Hey, Latvia. Why are you running the front desk?"

Raivis relaxes his shoulders a tiny bit, easing up just the slightest. "Oh, um… Mr. Lithuania is working d-down in the lab and Mr. Russia is out of the office today." He notices the silver case in America's hand. "Oh! C-can I take that to the lab for you, s-sir?"

Alfred holds up his hand politely. "No, that's ok. If it's alright, I can take it downstairs myself." He offers the younger nation a smile. "Besides, I was hoping to talk to Toris before I go."

Latvia looks worried for a moment, but nods and gives him an access card for the laboratory. "Just take the elevator to the bottom floor and it's the second door on the right."

The American thanks him and heads to the elevator. It would be like Russia to leave and not even tell him. To be honest, he doesn't really need to see Toris, but Alfred worries about what might happen if the Latvian abandons the front desk for even a second. No doubt Russia has video cameras set up all over the building.

Plus, Alfred has never seen the lab before, and this might be his only chance to do so without getting caught by Russia.

* * *

Once downstairs, Alfred locates the door without any trouble and holds up the access card to the scanner. It beeps once and unlocks the door, allowing the American to push it open slowly. The strong smell of chemicals and antiseptics overwhelm him and he considers leaving. But his curiosity urges him on and he steps inside the room.

The lab looks pretty much like a lab would look: clean white floor and walls, rows of shelves stacked with beakers and chemicals, and hard granite counters covered with various medical instruments. A man with short blonde hair is seated at one of the counters, looking into a microscope and writing down notes on a notepad. Wrapped up in his work, he doesn't seem to notice a new presence in the room. It takes Alfred a moment before he remembers the man's name.

"Estonia?"

The blonde country lifts his head abruptly. As he turns around to face Alfred, the American's eyes widen slightly but he manages to hide his surprise.

"O-Oh, America! Sorry, you startled me."

Eduard smiles politely and Alfred nervously returns the gesture, trying not to be impolite by staring.

Back during the days of the pandemic, Estonia was one of the few "countries" that fell victim to the disease. In a rare turn of events the disease attacked his ocular nerves and the devastated nation lost his eyesight. After the Company was established, Russia offered him a new set of genetically modified eye implants in exchange for work at the Company. Despite the high risk of the operation, the Baltic nation accepted his offer. The implants gave him perfect 20/20 vision plus telescopic and magnifying enhancements, which helped him greatly in his research. But of course the deal would come with a catch: as long as Estonia worked for the Company, the implants were his to keep. But should he ever choose to quit, the deal would be null and void and he would lose his sight once more. It was a perfect loophole, a trick Russia seemed skilled at pulling on most everyone.

"Did you want me to take that for you?" Eduard asks, pointing to the case.

Alfred frowns, but then remembers why he came down to the lab in the first place. "Oh, sorry." He crosses over and hands the case to the other nation. Up close, he sees the mechanical lenses of the bionic eyes move and spin, taking in every single detail of the world around them. The American wonders what it's like to see through them and begins to ask him when a familiar brunette walks into the lab carrying a few small, rectangular boxes.

"Ok, Eduard, I've got the newest shipment of- Mr. America?"

Alfred grins as Toris is startled and nearly drops the stack of boxes. The Lithuanian carefully sets his cargo down next to Estonia and nods in greeting. "Forgive me, I wasn't expecting to see you down here. How are you, sir?"

"Toris, you know you don't have to act so polite towards me."

The Baltic nation looks embarrassed but manages to give a small smile. "Sorry, force of habit. But how _did_ you get down here?"

Alfred walks over to them, studying his surroundings. "Latvia gave me a keycard." He glances at Estonia's notes but is unable to make out the scrawled handwriting. It reminds him of a doctor's handwriting. "So what exactly goes on down here? Is this the place where the organs are made?"

Toris shakes his head. "No, the organs are manufactured elsewhere. We just receive them in monthly shipments."

Eduard nods. "They get sent here and we check over each one individually, making sure it works properly and fixing any problems that might arise. We also take care of the repossessed organs."

Lithuania opens one of the boxes and takes out a heart of all things, wrapped up tightly in plastic packaging. Years of war and violence have mostly desensitized Alfred to gory things, but the sight of it still makes him feel revulsion. The brunette nation inspects the organ carefully, staring at it with an almost wishful look. "It's amazing what he's done."

Alfred scoffs. "How on earth can you call anything that monster's done 'amazing', Toris?"

Fierce blue eyes meet his own. "Because he's a genius. A maniacal one, but a genius nonetheless. Ivan has singlehandedly turned the world upside down and finally achieved the mass unification he's longed for."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Think about it, Alfred. Every person who has one of these organs, every one of our customers, has unknowingly put their life in his hands. In a way, he owns them all."

The realization of what Toris says makes Alfred's blood run cold. He'd never thought of the situation in that way before. All those years of listening to "become one with Mother Russia"; it had finally happened and no one had even noticed. The entire operation was part of his plan and he had executed it perfectly. The Lithuanian's words suddenly fit perfectly: try as he might, America cannot deny that the Russian is a genius.

* * *

Alfred's mind is still reeling by the time he arrives home. He shrugs off his jacket and sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Matt, I'm home," he calls to his brother.

The Canadian pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway. "You're home early. What's up?"

Alfred plops down onto the couch and turns on the TV set. "Eh, not much to do today. I got done early for a change." He flips through the channels idly, finding no real interest in any of the programs.

"Well, that's a nice change." Matthew shifts nervously, fiddling with the end of his shirt. Alfred glances up at him, his brow furrowing in confusion. "By the way, I forgot to tell you earlier—"

"THAT BLOODY WANKER IS AT IT AGAIN!"

"—I invited Arthur for dinner."

They hear the front door slam violently as a rather irate Brit storms into the living room. "I can't believe it! Now he's proposed that the Company will cover prosthetic replacements in the next few months!" England rips off his jacket and throws it angrily at the floor, continuing his furious rant. "Pretty soon there won't be a damn soul in the world that doesn't have some part of his technology! Why don't we all just tattoo his name to our bloody foreheads while we're at it?"

"It's nice to see you too, Arthur," America says sarcastically to the fuming nation. England takes a moment to compose himself before approaching the two brothers.

"Sorry, I just don't know how much more of this I can take. How are you two?"

Matthew smiles politely. "We're doing fine. I've got dinner almost ready." With that, he ducks back into the kitchen, England following behind him.

"What about you, Alfred?"

"M'fine." Alfred goes back to flipping through the channels when his beeper goes off. He checks the number but already knows it's Russia. _Probably calling to "apologize" for not being there today, _he thinks bitterly. "Be there in sec, Matt," The American yells as he walks to the back of the house. "I have to call my boss."

Back in the kitchen, Matthew finishes setting the table. England studies him for a moment before asking, "So how is Alfred really doing? Is he still working harder?"

The Canadian sighs tiredly, leaning against the countertop. "You know Alfred. Always has to be the hero." He massages his chest gently.

Arthur gives him a concerned look. "Does it still hurt?"

Matthew shakes his head. "It's not as bad." A moment of silence passes before light violet eyes meet emerald ones. "I'm worried about him, Arthur. Ever since then, he's been acting so different, like he's hiding something from me. He thinks I don't notice, but I do." His brows furrow as his expression becomes pained. "What do I do?"

England crosses over and pulls the smaller nation into a hug. "It'll be alright, Matthew. I'm sure if it was something serious, he'd tell you. Alfred's an idiot, but he's not a total idiot." He pulls away and offers the Canadian a small smile. "He trusts you, Matthew, and you should trust him."

Matthew smiles in return. "You're right," he says with a sniffle. "I guess I shouldn't worry so much."

* * *

After England leaves for the night, Alfred heads immediately to bed, thoroughly exhausted from the day's events. He sinks onto his mattress and slips off his glasses, burrowing his face in his hands. He knows he can't allow this madness to go on much longer. The United Nations are trying their hardest to find a way to bring down Russia's Company, Arthur told them earlier that night, but the one thing standing in their way is the one solid agreement they made in the first place. As long as that catch-22 remains in place, nothing can be done. It's so simple, yet so maddening.

A quiet knock on the door interrupts Alfred's thoughts. "Al?" Matthew pokes his head through the cracked door. "A-Are you ok?"

America's expression softens and he gives his brother a reassuring grin. "I'm fine, Mattie. What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You just… you seem so stressed out these days, like something's bothering you. It makes me worry."

Alfred chuckles lightly. "You don't need to worry about me, Mattie. I promise you I'm fine."

He can tell the Canadian doesn't find much comfort in his words. "Well, you know if you've got something on your mind that's bothering you, you can trust me, right?"

"Of course, Matt."

"Ok then. Goodnight, Alfred."

"Goodnight."

"I love you."

Alfred freezes for a moment. "…I love you, too." He watches the Canadian flip the light switch and closes the door, almost like Arthur used to do for him when he was a kid. He tugs the covers up and turns his back to the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

_I do love you, Mattie. I really do, _he tells himself. _You're my twin, my other half, and I love you. But part of you belongs to him. He's a monster and I hate him._

_And that's why I also hate you._

_

* * *

_

**There you go. Eduard somehow the fail!Mag charcter in this little twisted tale. And now I will tahe the time to answer any (non-plot related) questions about the story.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: This chapter is super short, and I apologize for that, but I needed to get it down and it didn't fit in anywhere else. I'm trying not to Tarantino this story too much, but Star agrees that it's a good place to leave off. Besides, the next chapter will perhaps explain why Alfred and Gilbert are Repo Men ;3**

* * *

There are days when Alfred F. Jones simply puts up with his unfortunate dilemma. He goes about killing people he doesn't know, repossessing their organs, turning said organs over to his boss, and going home to put on a happy face for his younger twin brother.

There are days when Gilbert Beilschmidt is reminded of the times before all this turmoil, when he could be honest with his younger brother and not feel so guilty for hiding dark secrets from him. He doesn't much care for his particular situation with Russia, but he considers it penance for his past crimes.

And then there are days when the both of them wonder when all this madness began, when exactly their lives took such a turn for the worst.

* * *

"Oh man. Not awesome."

Gilbert stares at his briefcase in silent disappointment. He'd somehow managed to knock it off its hinges and lose half of the contents while chasing after his current target. The young girl had managed to evade him successfully, which Gilbert didn't mind in the slightest. But dragging around a broken case would not sit too well with his boss, so he decides he has no choice but to turn it in for a new one. On any normal occasion, he'd drop by his own office in Berlin and have the matter taken care of quickly. But he remembers that West had to go in for an appointment today, which means he has a possible chance of being spotted. With a sigh, Gilbert takes out his cell phone to book a flight to Moscow, choosing security over convenience.

The plane ride, though not a terribly long trip, gives the Prussian ample time to change into civilian clothes. An albino person is strange enough, but seeing one in a Repo Man uniform would surely raise a bit of suspicion. The disguise appears to work as he makes his way to the Company building without being noticed. _This will be easy, _Prussia tells himself. _I go in, switch cases, and get home in time to meet West for lunch._

As Gilbert approaches the building and pulls open the door, he nearly gets knocked over by another person in a apparent hurry. "Whoa, sorry about that—" he begins to say, but stops when he recognizes the young man's face.

"America?"

Gilbert's surprise is reflected on Alfred's own face. Blue eyes widen in shock as the American tries to hide his case behind his back, the same case Gilbert carries in his own hand, but the damage is already done. They've seen each other. And now they know.

"Hi Prussia," Alfred says with a hint of shame.

Gilbert smiles in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Um, how are you?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Awesome, as always!" The two nations study each other's face in silence for a moment. "How's Matthew doing these days?"

Prussia notices a fire hidden in the American's eyes that burns at the mention of his brother. "He's doing well," Alfred says thickly. "And Ludwig?"

The Prussian sighs. "Stubborn as always. He doesn't like to take his meds." The American cracks a small but knowing smile at hearing such. Gilbert checks his watch. "Well, it's been nice talking to you, but I've got some business to take care of."

America nods. "Likewise. I'll see you at the UN conference then." He moves out of the doorway to allow Gilbert to enter in. They bid their goodbyes and each goes on his way.

The reason behind each other's "employment" was easy to figure out. Both countries had brothers who had fallen victim to the disease. The identities of Repo Men are a well-kept secret. Finding out the men behind the mask could have fatal consequences for many. In the few minutes that the conversation had taken place, the two had made a silent agreement with each other:

_I won't tell if you won't._

_

* * *

_

**Haha, cliff hanger. Sorry about that, but I do so love cliff hangers~**

**A few poll questions, if you will. I have ideas already, but I want to know what you all think. Please don't try to guess what's going to happen in the story, these are just theoretical.**

**1: Now that Alfred and Gilbert know each other's secret, should they stick together or continue ignoring the matter?**

**2: If Matt and/or Ludwig happen to find out about their brothers' secret, should they pretend they don't know or confront them face-to-face?**

**3: Should either of the two be found out by someone?**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I dun goofed. I wrote the first half of this chapter a while ago, but got swamped by work and didn't care to finish it til I was riding back from Spring Break. At any rate, here it is. This is more of a flashback than a continuing chapter, but I though it was important to the plot. Sorry if the guys are OOC.**

**Big thanks to Star for being my beta and keeping my past and present tense in check ;3;**

_

* * *

_

_A Few Months Earlier_

Prussia stares blankly at the window, trying not to focus on what was in the room on the other side. It wasn't that he doesn't care; he just didn't want to show it, especially not in front of Italy. Besides, there was something about hospitals that made him uncomfortable.

He knows he should be inside the room comforting Italy and being a good older brother, but at the moment it's simply too painful for him.

He hates seeing his brother like this.

Prussia looks up at the scene in front of him. The once proud and stoic nation of Germany now lies in a hospital bed, hooked up to so many different wires and tubes that it makes Gilbert sick just by looking at him. An oxygen mask is strapped to his brother's face, perhaps the only object keeping him from suffocating. Italy sits dutifully by the German's side, holding his pale hand and murmuring sweet Italian nonsense into unhearing ears. The tears have long dried from the Italian's face, as he found no reason to shed them anymore. There wasn't much else they could do for him now.

"Everything alright, comrade?"

The albino nation turns around quickly, only slightly startled by Russia's voice. The other nation stands tall, hands folded behind his back, offering a kind smile. It embarrasses him to be seen in such a weakened state.

"Yeah, everything's fine." Gilbert quickly rubs whatever tears might still be lingering out of his eyes. "I'm just worried about West."

"I see. Is his condition getting worse, then?"

He nods slowly. "Doctors say they might have to put him on a ventilator soon. They've stopped the virus but his lungs are still shutting down."

Ivan places a gentle hand on the Prussian's shoulder. "I'm truly sorry to hear that. But I do wonder why you do not simply buy a new set of lungs for him? Not to brag, of course, but my designs are flawless." He smiles happily, which comes across as downright creepy to Gilbert.

"Honestly, I would if I could, but West can't afford it. His economy's failing as it is and he's too stubborn to ask for my help." _Not that there's anything I could even do to help him,_ Gilbert thinks bitterly. He shakes his head, feeling utterly defeated. "No, I think it's… too late for him."

As Prussia sinks into one of the chairs in the hallway, Ivan gives him a peculiar look. "What if I could help you with your dilemma, comrade?"

Gilbert looks up at him incredulously. "Wh-what? Are you serious?"

The tall nation bends down to meet him at eye level. "I could give Germany a new set of lungs in exchange for a little help on your part. You'd be helping him without him ever knowing, da?" He smiles again.

A small flicker of hope ignites somewhere in Prussia's chest. Russia's offer is like an answer to his prayers. But something in the back of his mind tells him it's too good to be true. He studies the other man's face carefully. "What's the catch? Is this some kind of a trick?"

Ivan holds his hands up. "No catch, no tricks. Like I said, just a small job in exchange for my help. What do you say?"

Gilbert rises to his feet and glances into his brother's hospital room. He watches Italy slowly brush the German's blonde bangs away from his face. He hesitates before turning back to face Russia.

"What kind of job?"

* * *

"So glad you could make it, comrade!" Ivan smiles brightly as he seats himself at his desk. America sits across from him, arms folded and a scowl etched on his face. "Tell me, how is your brother doing lately?"

"He's dying," The younger nation replies bluntly.

"Come now, there's no need for such rudeness. You've no reason to be mad at me."

Alfred scoffs. "I have a number of reasons to be mad at you, you idiot. Want me to start listing?" Before he can continue, Ivan holds up a hand.

"I didn't call you here to be insulted, America."

"Then why _did _you call me here?"

Russia smirks. "I'd like to make you an offer."

In spite of himself, Alfred stops talking and looks curiously at the taller nation. "Offer? What kind of offer?"

The Russian's smile grew even bigger. "Nothing too dangerous. A business offer, if you will. And the best part is we both have something to gain from it."

The blonde nation eyes him suspiciously. "I'm listening."

Ivan stands up and walks around from behind his desk. "As it turns out, I think we could help each other greatly, comrade. I need an inside man for a certain job, and you need an organ transplant for your brother. It's a win-win scenario."

Alfred jumps out of his chair, his blue eyes suddenly wide with excitement. "Are you serious? You'll help Mattie?"

He nods. "As long as you help me in return. Granted, it wouldn't be an easy job, but if you sign an agreement and promise to cooperate—"

"I'll do it."

Russia blinks. "You haven't even allowed me to explain what it is you'd be-?"

"I don't care!" America steps closer, his irritation replaced with newfound hope. "I don't care what it is. I'll do it."

Ivan places a large hand on his shoulder. "Wonderful decision, my friend!" He walks back to his desk and pulls out an official-looking contract and a pen, offering them both to the American. "If you would be so kind as to sign on the dotted line."

Alfred all but snatches the pen out of his hand and quickly signs his name, paying absolutely no attention to the fine print…

* * *

**I'm having some... issues about the next few chapters. A big event is about to happen and I have an idea of how everything should unfold, but I'm pretty sure about 99.9% of you all will hate me by the time it ends. I'm not giving anything away, but let me know if you think I should continue with the current idea or create a "happier ending".**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I could list over 9000 reasons why this took so long. But nevertheless, it's an update. And I managed to type it all up and send it to Star in one day. Which I'm proud of. Star unfortunately had a busy weekend and couldn't send it back immediately, which is totally fine. She had to point out MANY TIMES that apparently I don't know the difference between "Britain" and "Briton" :|**

**Another reason it's taken so long is because... I'm worried about what's coming up. Can't remember if I've mentioned it or not, but I'm fairly certain most of you will "not be happy" with me by the next chapter/end of the story. Thought I should give fair warning that shit's about to go down. Not yet, but soon. Very soon.**

**And before you ask, I'm already typing up the next chapter. Shouldn't be but a few days since school ends TOMORROW~**

* * *

After about two weeks or so since his run-in with Prussia, America received the official notice from England: the British nation had scheduled a major world meeting. World meetings had been few in recent years due to the epidemic, and whenever there was one it usually involved futile discussions on how to take down Russia's company. Eventually the other countries grew tired of them and attendances dropped so low that they ceased altogether. This one would be the first in over a year.

Normally America wouldn't mind going to the meetings, but it was becoming more and more difficult hiding his secret from the rest of the world. He constantly feared the day he would slip up and his carefully constructed façade would come crashing down. He wondered what everyone else would think of him if they knew what a monster he'd become. _No,_ Alfred reminded himself. _He's the monster, not me. I'm the hero._

_I'm always the hero._

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Canada asks for the 7th time that morning. He watches his brother attempt to tie his necktie in the bedroom mirror.

"I told you already, Mattie." America finally loops the tie correctly, smoothing it down nicely over his crisp white dress shirt. He turns to his brother. "I'll be fine, I'm sure it's just another boring update on world matters or something. Besides, you should stay here and rest."

Matthew sighed and pouted slightly. "I wish you'd stop babying me all the time. You act like I'm going to fall apart the minute I walk out the front door."

"You know it's not like that, Matt. I just… want to keep you safe." He offers a smile. "How do I look?"

Canada smirks and straightens his brother's necktie. "You actually look professional for once in your life."

"Hey, I always look professional!"

The two share a moment of laughter before Alfred glances at the clock. "Shit! I'm gonna be late!"

"Don't forget your jacket," Matthew reminds him. He helps Alfred into the neatly ironed jacket and hands him his briefcase. Alfred pauses for a moment before taking it, thanking him hurriedly and rushing to the front door.

"Bye Matt! I'll be home later!"

"Please be careful, Al! You drive like a maniac," Canada calls out after him.

The American laughs loudly. "I'm always careful!"

In his hurry, Alfred failed to notice that his company pager had fallen off and landed with a clatter on the front porch, where Matthew was now bending down to pick it up…

* * *

The second the double doors flew open, all eyes were on the American. He rushes into the conference room, his suit now disheveled and his chest heaving breathlessly.

"Nice of you to finally join, America," England says with a hint of annoyance at being interrupted during his discussion.

"Sorry… I was… There was traffic…"

"Never mind, just take your seat." The Briton waves a dismissive hand as Alfred makes his way to his seat, slightly embarrassed at being reprimanded in front of everyone. He sits down quietly and faces forward at attention… only to meet eyes with a rather pale-faced Prussian. Germany sat next to his brother, the two nearly the same pigment now albeit for different reasons. The younger German is preoccupied with trying to make sure Italy was taking down efficient notes. Prussia, however, is staring intently at America. The two are frozen for a moment, caught in each other's questioning gaze, each wondering if perhaps the other would take any form action in front of the other nations. Finally Gilbert issues him a warning glance and turns his focus back to England, who had continued the discussion.

The rest of the conference went smoothly – or rather, as smoothly as the meetings usually go. France and England started bickering over political matters, Greece had to be woken up several times, Switzerland almost got thrown out for breaking the "no firearms at a world conference" rule, and Spain had to be given first aid after South Italy punched him in the face for "getting too close to my junk, dammit!"

After all the fighting and arguing had ceased and a certain Italian had been made to sit in his own little corner, England stands up to take the floor again. "As you all know," he begins, clearing his throat, "I don't just plan these meetings for discussing economic and world trade issues. Yes, they are important, but the true reason why I called you all here today—"

"Oh for crying out loud, not this again," mutters Switzerland rather loudly.

"—Is to continue weighing our options as to how we can take down Russia's business once and for all." The Briton glares disdainfully at Vash, who stands up to meet his gaze. Even without his guns in his hands, the Swiss soldier is intimidating.

"Haven't we heard enough of this? There's nothing to discuss, England. The bastard has all of us in the palm of his hand and he knows it!" He points an accusing finger at England. "Stop wasting our time with false hope!"

Arthur takes a moment before replying, "I would've though you of all people would be in favor of finding a solution, Switzerland, especially given your own circumstances."

Switzerland's face softens and he glances towards the empty seat next to him for a split second, before returning his angry emerald eyes to England. He silently sits back down and doesn't say anything else.

Arthur straightens his tie before continuing. "Now then, I know we've had poor efforts so far in finding a solution, but—"

"'Poor efforts?' We've been chasing our tails in circles aru!" China slams his hands down angrily on the tables. Before England can voice his opinions, other countries murmur their agreement to each other and the room quickly fills with chatter.

Above the noise, China keeps yelling: "Your silly ideas have gotten us nowhere aru! If you have such a brilliant plan this time, then you wouldn't mind sharing with us now would you?"

"I WILL IF YOU LET ME FINISH A BLOODY SENTENCE, YOU GIT!"

The outburst makes everyone in the room fall silent, all staring at England hesitantly. The British nation huffs angrily before calming himself.

"Right. If you idiots will allow me to get a word in edgewise, I'll tell you my idea." China reluctantly sits down and folds his arms, glaring at the Briton but waiting for an answer. "Now then, I know we've been unable to accomplish much in the past regarding our… dilemma." A few nations, China and Switzerland included, roll their eyes at this statement. "But I have an idea that I'm hoping will work this time. We've been going about this all wrong, trying to take the Company down by aiming at Russia. What we need to do is go for his subordinates instead, start from the bottom and work our way up."

America feels hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

China raises his hand instead of interrupting this time. "What are you saying aru?"

England smirks. "Don't you see? Without his employees and lackeys, he has no power or authority. He may be strong, but he relies on everyone around him to back him up." Alfred knows Arthur wouldn't talk like this if the Baltics were present. "If we can find a way to get past him using his own people, he won't stand a chance."

A few countries murmur to each other in hushed tones before Germany speaks up. "Say your plan works, England. We track down his employees. Then what? What do you suggest we do with them? Kill them?" The German fails to notices his brother growing paler by the second.

"No, nothing of that sort. We find out information from them. We need to get as many as we can onto our side, to help us."

"You speak as if we're going to war here," Ludwig replies. "You plan to start another World War over something like this?"

England frowns. "I'm not saying that, I'm saying there's a possibility—"

"That this will end badly." Switzerland is back on his feet, gripping the table." "And you want to drag the rest of us down with you."

"I never said we'd fight, you imbecile!" the Britain shouts back, his patience all but gone. "But if push comes to shove, We need as many on our side as we can get! It'd be us against them!"

_Them. _

Alfred leaps to his feet and bounds out the door before anyone notices. The conference room falls back into chaos as nations argue and yell at each other, Switzerland and England going at each other like hounds.

Once safely down the hall, America slides to the ground, his head pounding loudly. They were talking about him. They want to find him and Prussia and everyone else and take down Ivan once and for all. This made him wonder whose side he would be on. Who he would be betraying should a war break out. If he came clean about everything, how much would they hate him? How much would England hate him? Mattie…

"Hey."

Alfred snaps up from his internal musings to see Prussia standing next to him. The albino gives him a curious look before offering his hand. America frowns but takes it and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

"We need to talk."

Once the two had found an empty conference room, Prussia quickly locks the door and turns towards America.

"We don't have much time, so here's the deal: You know my secret and I know your secret. Either one of us could rat the other out, but since there's substantial evidence against both of us, we'd both get screwed. Right?"

Alfred nods, following his logic easily.

"Right," Gilbert continues, "so for the time being, we need to work together instead of against each other. If either of us spills the beans, it's all over."

"Wait, what?" Alfred frowns.

Prussia pinches the bridge of his nose. "Where you not listening to Eyebrows' idea?"

"So wait, you're planning to follow Iggy's plan and take down Russia?"

Prussia shakes his head. "Not me, us." He steps in closer to the American. "Alfred, this isn't a one man job. We've been going about this the wrong way. Don't you see? There's strength in numbers. If we can team up and help each other, we might have a chance."

"What about the others?"

"Let them do what they wanna do, I guess. We can't exactly work with them on this. We both know too much."

Alfred ponders the albino's logic for a moment. "What if they find out?"

"They're not gonna find out, we'll b—"

"But what if they do?"

"They won't fuckin' find out, ok?"

America gives him a sad look. "I can't keep this up forever, Gil. I can't lose Mattie."

Gilbert lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We won't have to do this forever. We will find a way out. Together. Alright?"

Alfred nods slowly. "Okay."

Prussia walks over and unlocks the door. "Come on, we'd better get back before someone notices we've gone."

* * *

"Well that was a bloody disaster," England says irritably, holding his still throbbing black eye.

He watches as the last few nations leave the conference room to return to their own respective countries. After Prussia and America left, things went downhill quickly. Spain had since recovered from his beating, leaving with only a mildly cut-up cheek and a still fuming Italian. England, Switzerland and China, however, had started throwing punches shortly after Prussia and America snuck out. The Swiss had managed to do quite a number on the Chinese and British nations before Sweden and Turkey hauled him out the door. After Germany yelled at the others to shut up, the meeting was quickly drawn to a close.

"And where the hell did you run off to?" Arthur snaps at Alfred as they walk down the hallway. "First you show up late, then you run out during the meeting!"

"Sorry, I had to, uh…. Go get some water. It was getting kind of tense in there."

Arthur touches his eye again and mutters something about "tense my ass" as they round a corner. "Next time I call you to a meeting, I expect you to be there on time and stay for the entire thing." Alfred sighs but nods quickly.

The two finally arrive at the parking lot and Alfred bids his former father figure goodbye. "Hope you get some ice for your eye, Iggy." Only after he says it does he realize how dumb it sounded.

Arthur grumbles out a curt thank you and walks off to find his own vehicle. As he begins to climb into the car, his cellphone rings. The Briton has to dig through his pockets, swearing loudly, before he finally locates the phone.

"Hello?"

"Arthur?" The voice on the other line is hushed and gentle, a voice he is all too familiar with.

"Oh, Matthew." He immediately softens his tone. "How are you today, my boy?"

"…We need to talk."

* * *

**Annnd there you go. Whew, longest chapter to date, I might add. Once again, expect better updates. Also, I suck at writing group dialogue ;3;**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Spologies for the delay. I finished this up a week ago but Starrie said the DocX loader wasn't working for some reason. It finally patched through so thanks a million, Star~**

**CONTENT WARNING: Yes, this chapter warrants a warning. There is an explicit amount of violence beyond yon linebreak right there, so I'm giving a heads up now. Also, don't hate me for this chapter. ;3;**

* * *

"Alfred F. Jones, you are a dead man when I find you!" England yells to no one in particular as he traverses the rainy streets of Moscow.

After the meeting, he received a rather distressing phone call from Canada. His former colony tearfully explained how Alfred had dropped a pager on his way out that morning, how he hadn't recognized the number it bore, and how he had tried calling it, only to be answered with "Company Headquarters, Toris speaking." After listening to Matthew's story and deeply pondering the matter, Arthur was left with the sneaking suspicion that somehow America was working behind enemy lines. He wasn't sure what would cause such behavior, but the Briton was determined to get to the bottom of things. And if Canada's information was anything to go by, his best bet was to start in Moscow.

Which is where he was, trying in vain to find a way into the massive Company building without being seen. A part of him refused to believe that Alfred would do such a thing, and the other half couldn't wait to throttle him for doing such a thing. Either way, he had flown to Russia to settle his own mind, calm Matthew's fears, and – hopefully – clear Alfred's name of any suspicion. Because he can't _really _be working for Russia.

Can he?

"Guilty or not, I'm still going to kill that bastard for making me walk around in this downpour," Arthur decides, shaking the excess water from his hair.

After a few minutes of searching he locates a back entrance to the main building, fortunately unguarded at the moment. Too pleased with his efforts, the British man fails to notice a looming shadow behind him before a cold, hard metal object strikes him across the back of his head.

* * *

"America, I have an assignment for you."

Alfred frowns. Russia rarely calls him after work hours.

"When and where?"

"Tonight. Here. I have a flight arranged for you at—"

"Tonight? I'm already home, and I've already finished today's quota. Can't this wait til tomorrow?"

"Nyet," the Russian replies sternly. "This is a special job and it needs to be done tonight."

The American pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. He knows there might be repercussions if he flat out refuses, but he really doesn't want to go all the way to Moscow, especially this late at night. He thinks it over for a moment before answering, "I'll be there as soon I can."

"Wonderful! I shall see you soon."

Russia hangs up without so much as a goodbye.

America quickly gets his things together, altogether irritated with his "boss." As he reaches for his briefcase, he ponders what he'll tell Matthew as an excuse for—

"Going somewhere?"

Alfred looks up, startled. His brother stands in the doorjamb, clutching the frame tightly. Matthew stares at him in an unsettling way, his face pale. "What are you doing, Alfred?" he asks in a hushed voice, almost as if asking a trick question.

"Um, I… uh" America stands up quickly. "I have to go in to the office for something. Boss called and asked me to finish up some work." He watches his brother continue to stare at him in that unnerving way, and wonders briefly if maybe he doesn't believe him. "I'll be back in a bit, Matt. It shouldn't be that much work; he just wants it done tonight for some reason."Canada opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but merely replies, "Don't stay out too late."

The American offers a smile and a quick goodbye as he brushes past his brother, who doesn't move an inch from his spot near the door. Canada continues to stare at the floor of his brother's bedroom, closing his eyes only after he hears the faint slam of the front door being closed.

* * *

The Company building is an eerie sight to see at night. Alfred feels an odd chill run down his spine as he looks up at the illuminated building. As he approaches the front door, the American notices a familiar brunette waiting for him at the entrance.

"This way, please." Toris does not meet Alfred's eyes as he leads him around to the medical building instead. The polite but brief greeting does nothing to calm America's nerves as he follows Lithuania through the building. They travel far down into the lower levels, far below the ground level, when at last the brunette stops in front of a rather menacing metal door.

"He's waiting for you inside." Without so much as a nod goodbye, Lithuania continues down the empty hallway, leaving Alfred confused and a bit nervous. By "he" did he mean Russia? Hesitantly the blonde nation opens the door and steps inside. The interior of the room is freezing cold and long pieces of plastic tarp hang from the ceiling. It reminds America of a meat locker for some reason. _It's probably a freezer for temperature-sensitive supplies,_ he thinks to himself, shivering slightly at the cold. Whatever the room was meant for, it appears to be stripped bare of its contents at the moment.

A muffled cry causes him to jump. Pushing the tarp aside, Alfred comes across a figure seated in a chair, blindfolded, bound and gagged. The person struggles against their bindings, their words muffled by the handkerchief gag. America stops dead in his tracks, shock washing over him as he stares wide-eyed at the familiar person before him.

"Arthur?"

Upon hearing his name, England stops struggling. America quickly rushes over to his former guardian and removes the blindfold. He notices a small amount of blood staining the blindfold and the back of England's head. Confused emerald eyes meet sky blue ones before the Briton starts yelling what can only be muffled swears at Alfred.

"Arthur, what are you doing here?" America wonders out loud as he unties the gag.

"I could ask you the same thing, you bloody git!" England replies sharply. "What the hell is wrong with you? I've been running around Moscow looking for you all night!"

Alfred backs away from the furious Briton, bumping into a nearby tray table. Something slips off the table and lands on the floor with a metallic clatter. Not thinking, the American quickly stoops down to pick the object up. It's a surgical knife, not unlike the one he carries in his briefcase. While the hairs on the back of Alfred's neck begin to rise, England fails to notice as he continues ranting.

"…And on top of that it starts raining! Oi, are you even listening to me?"

The sound of loud static interrupts him.

"Ah, America. So good you could here in a timely manner." Russia's calm voice is broadcasted from an unseen intercom, filling the room with echoing sound. "I was afraid you might be running late, what with this dreary weather."

America glances at the knife in his hand, then back to England. Arthur continues to glare at him but remains quiet as Russia speaks.

"You wish to know why I called you here so late at night, da? Believe me when I say that the last thing I wanted was to interrupt your evening, but the matter was… urgent."

Arthur mutters beneath his breath, "Alfred, I swear to God, if you don't tell me what's going on—"

"I caught comrade England sneaking around and sticking his nose where he shouldn't. We can't have sneaky little rats running around here. The health department might shut us down."

"Who are you calling a rat, you bloody Communist?" Arthur shouts lividly at the ceiling.

Too much noise. Alfred can't hear himself think. He puts a hand to his temple.

"America. I need you to take care of your sneaky little comrade."

"'Take care of'…?" Alfred chokes out. England instantly becomes quiet.

"Kill him."

"WHAT?" The American nation recoils from England as if to keep himself from actually doing anything. "Are you insane? How could you even ask me to do such a thing?"

"He knows too much, America." Russia's response is calm, collected.

"Bullshit! You've gone too far this time! There's no way I'd murder Arthur!"

England begins to struggle against his bonds again. "ALFRED, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?"

"He knows your secret."

The American freezes. England… knows his secret?

"He knows, he's seen you here. That's proof enough, wouldn't you say?" A tiny part of him begins to panic. He can't let England tell the others. They'd hate him. Mattie would hate him. _Mattie. _"He knows, and he'll tell everyone what you've done."

"Alfred, what are you just standing around for? Untie me this instant! We've got to tell the others!"

"He'll tell Canada."

_No. _

Alfred rushes back to England, crouching down hurriedly to meet him face to face. "Iggy, you're not going to tell, are you? You won't tell anyone, will you?"

England stares at him incredulously. "Of course I'm going to tell them! This is a bloody homicide attempt!"

"NO! No, you can't tell!" He grabs the Briton's shoulders roughly, shaking slightly. "Please don't tell, Iggy. Please don't tell. Especially not Mattie."

The British nation notices how out of focus and scared America's eyes are now. The younger nation looks highly on edge thanks to the nonsense Russia told him. Arthur pauses and forces himself to remain calm enough to talk to his former charge.

"Alfred, you need to get a grip on yourself, lad. It's ok, you're not in any trouble. We can just forget all this happened tonight." A hint, a small spark of sanity comes across the American's eyes.

"R-Really? You're not mad at me?"

Arthur shakes his head gently. "No, I'm not mad."

"He thinks you've gone off the deep end, comrade. The rat's trying to calm you down so you don't kill him." Russia's voice, though still calm, has taken on a slight sinister tone. "He's just trying to get away from you."

Alfred's attention waivers and he starts to turn pale.

"No, Alfred! Don't listen to him," the Briton warns. "We'll go home, have a nice cup of tea, and talk about all this with Matthew—"

"NO! MATTIE CAN'T KNOW!" America shouts loudly in England's face. He's slipping too far this time. "You can't tell Matt, Arthur!" The Englishman stares at his friend frightfully. He knows he's no longer in control of the situation. Then again, he never was.

"He thinks you're a monster like me."

Russia's final comment pushes him over the edge. It happens in an instant. Alfred jumps up and lashes out with the surgical knife with a yell.

"STOP COMPARING ME TO HIM!"

The razor-edged knife slides across England's neck quickly and neatly. The initial shock leaves the nation speechless. He gapes wide-eyed at America, who glares at the thin lines of blood now running down Arthur's neck. With an angry growl, the younger nation raises the knife again.

"I. AM. NOT. A. MONSTER."

With each shout he brings the knife down again and again onto the Briton's chest. He rips, tears and slices through fabric, flesh and muscle like a knife through hot butter. America's screams are nothing more than a primordial yell of incoherence as he attacks his fellow ally. England says nothing as he is torn to shreds, his blood staining everything: himself, the floor, the ceiling, the chair, Alfred.

By the time America calms himself down, panting and out of breath, the damage has been done. The blonde nation falls to his knees, finally allowing himself to let go of the knife. He reaches out a tentative hand and carefully lifts up England's face. Wide blue eyes stare wordlessly at empty, half-lidded green ones.

"Iggy?"

There is no answer. The realization of his actions begins to sink in. Tears begin to stain Alfred's eyes as he checks for a pulse, his glove smearing more sticky red blood over the torn skin. There are no signs of life to be found.

"What have I done?" he asks the corpse.

America barely notices when Russia walks up behind him, the taller nation surveying the carnage with satisfaction and delight.

"Oh dear," he coos, feigning sympathy. "You've made quite a mess, haven't you?"

"I… I don't… Arthur… he…"

"Oh, there, there. It's not your fault." Ivan places a gentle but heavy hand on the blonde nation's shaking shoulder. "You did the right thing, Alfred. I'm very proud of you.

America quickly turns to Russia, searching for some form of relief from the agony he feels. His sanity is frayed and slipping.

"I-It's not… my fault?"

"Of course not. He was going to tell your brother everything. He needed to be eliminated."

Alfred's deranged mind finds comfort in Russia's soft violet eyes and calming voice. He nods slowly. "It wasn't my fault. He… he was going to tell Mattie. I couldn't let him tell Mattie."

The Russian smiles sweetly. "That's right."

With a sniff, Alfred shakily rises to his feet. He looks up at Russia questioningly, his mind still in a fog.

"Go home and get some rest, comrade. We've made a lot of progress tonight."

America nods slowly and walks away from the bloody scene. Once he leaves, Russia turns his attention to a rather pale Belarus and Ukraine, who stand next to the doorway with Lithuania. Toris averts his eyes, refusing to look at the ruined body of England. With a snap of their brother's fingers, the two girls hesitantly step forward.

"Clean up this mess, won't you?" Ivan asks, smiling brightly. Without a word, both women nod and set to work. Russia leaves them to their grisly task, exiting the frigid room. Lithuania quickly follows after him down the hallway.

"Sir, was that really necessary? Making him murder his own ally? YOUR own ally?"

Russia stops and glances at the pale-faced nation beside him. He offers another smile as a gentle warning.

"Know your place, little Toris."

With that, he continues down the hallway by himself. Lithuania remains behind, left by himself to ponder his cryptic leader's intentions.

* * *

***sob***

**Please direct all your complaints to not me.**


	10. Chapter 10

And it is done. An actual chapter. May I just say that Star deserves an award for not only being the quickest beta ever, but also the most faithful one for waiting almost a year for the next docx ;A;

Sorry for the delay, had to really work to get the ball rolling with this one, and when I did finally get on a roll we had family come into town. That and _Merchant of Venice_ happened. But I digress. Also you guys are fully aware I did NOT intend to give you heart attacks when I posted that poll a few days ago, right? That was me being dumb and not thinking.

No chapter warnings, save for some badassery on Mattie's part. I do hope you'll eventually forgive me for disappearing, but I hope this makes up for it just a little?

* * *

The sun has not yet risen when the skies of London start to burn.

France receives the news first, what with being the closest to England's land. At first he refuses to believe it, running to the windows of his Parisian home to check. With blue eyes wide in shock he watches as chaos and fire rain down on the capitol of his ally's nation. The horrifying sight leaves him cold and shaking. Only after one of his maids comes in to ask if he is all right does France quietly excuse himself to his office, where he picks up the phone to inform the rest of the world.

Meanwhile in Moscow, Alfred Jones boards a plane to return home, trying to appear calm and relaxed against the given circumstances. A silky sweet voice in his head reminds him that what was done had to be done. That all his hard work would have been for nothing if England had been allowed to live. That Mattie was still safe because of it.

The American smiles hollowly and shuts his eyes, allowing the lull of the engines to sooth his fractured mind.

* * *

As soon as Alfred closes the front door, Canada collapses into his arms. The smaller nation sobs into his brother's shirt, spilling salty tears into the fabric and offering no explanation for them whatsoever. Alfred already knows, of course, but he plays along for the sake of it.

"Mattie, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

It takes him a moment to stop sobbing before the Canadian can answer. "Alfred, its Arthur. I got a call from Francis, he said London was on… was bur—"

Matthew chokes on his own words with a whimper and cries even harder. America gently rubs his brother's back, a bit unnerved to see him this way. He leads his twin to the living room and they both sit down on the couch. There the brothers remain, one quietly comforting the other, until the two of them drift off to sleep.

* * *

In the end, England's body is never found. His once proud country manages to retain some balance, but the rest of the nations know it will never be exactly the same ever again. Countries are not as connected to their nation personifications as they ought to be; they can continue to exist if the human form dies. But the initial shock of losing the essence of their country drove the citizens of into a momentary state of insanity and chaos. With the help of neighboring countries, the madness is quickly contained and sorted out, but the damage will always be present.

A few days later, a memorial service is held in London. Every single nation attends, except for Russia and his sisters. In a way, the rest are glad that he isn't there.

China of all people opens the ceremony, but he shows nothing but respect for the deceased nation. Even Switzerland looks sad, his head hung slightly in remorse. The service ends and many of the nations approach Alfred and Matthew with words of apology, of mourning and or encouragement. Alfred merely nods with each comment and thanks them for attending, but it tears at his insides with each tear-filled "I'm sorry for your loss" and "He was a good man." He wears a blank expression on his face through the whole ordeal. Matthew on the other hand doesn't ever seem to stop crying and nearly passes out from dehydration. Alfred uses this as an excuse to leave and once again thanks everyone for their kind words.

The trip home is quiet and tense. Matthew leans against the window, still a bit dizzy from earlier. For the first time since he'd heard the news about Arthur, he studies his brother carefully. Jaw tight and eyes blank, Alfred's face proves to be an unreadable map. Something about him strikes the Canadian as odd. As much as he and Arthur had fought and squabbled through the years, the British nation had raised him. Alfred loved Arthur and the news of his death must have been devastating for the blonde nation. So why hadn't he shown it?

Canada might have cried a little too much, but America had yet to shed a single tear.

As soon as they arrive home, Matthew watches his brother for any sign of mourning. Tears, shaking, even a frown. But his brother proves to be emotionless as he wordlessly goes to change out of his suit. With a sigh, Matthew goes to do the same.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, Alfred still not showing any hint of sadness towards the recent events and Matthew puzzling over his brother's reaction – or lack thereof. It's only during a most awkward dinner that the Canadian dares to bring it up at last.

"So… I thought the service today was nice. What did you think?"

He watches his brother pause ever so slightly between bites before nodding curtly.

"Kind of wished you had at least said a few words though. You knew him best."

America looks up sharply. "Sorry," he responds quietly. "I wasn't in much of a talking mood today. Besides, I thought Francis gave a good eulogy."

Canada gives him a rather disappointed look. "That's not really the point, Al. He was your friend, your former guardian. Surely you could have said _something_ to honor his memory."

"His memory gets honored whether I say something or not, Matt. Why would anything I have to say make a difference?"

Canada slams down his silverware and glares. "What the hell is wrong with you?" The words ring out through the dining room, stronger and louder than what the quiet nation is used to. Alfred stares at his brother in shock, too stunned to reply. "Why are you acting so distant all of a sudden? This was Arthur, Alfred! He was your guardian, your best friend! And you have yet to shed a single tear for him!"

The American finds his voice and yells back, "What does it even matter if I cried or not? Why are you so hung up on that fact! I'm the hero, and heroes don't cry."

"Cut the crap, would you?" His tone is so harsh it causes Alfred to flinch. "In case you've forgotten, I'm your _brother_. I grew up with you! And I can't believe I have to remind you that you cried over EVERYTHING! Why is this any different!"

The American jumps to his feet. "What is your problem? You've been overanalyzing me for the past couple of days! Get off my case already!"

The Canadian rises to meet him. "BECAUSE I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU ACT LIKE THIS BEFORE!" His chest begins to ache slightly from the overexertion but he puts the pain aside. "In all the years we've been together, all the times we've interacted as nations and as brothers, I have _never _seen you act so cold towards anyone. It's like I don't even know you anymore!" Breathless and shaking, Matthew clutches his chest, grabbing the table for support. America moves towards his brother, concern washing over his face.

"Mattie, I'm sorry. Please just calm down, ok?"

The younger twin looks up at him, eyes still filled with anger. "I'm serious, though. Ever since this," he gestures to himself, "you've been acting so secretive, so distant. I know you try not to, Alfred, but it shows nonetheless." He softens his gaze for a moment. "Please, just tell me whatever it is that's bothering you. I can help you and you can trust me. I'm worried about you, Al."

America's face turns to stone and he backs away slowly.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Why? What's so important that you can't even tell your own brother? We're twins; we're not supposed to keep secrets from each other."

Alfred glowers, his hands curling into fists. "I'm sorry, Matt, but it's for your own good. You'll understand someday."

Matthew straightens. "No. I don't think I'll ever understand." He regards his brother with contempt.

It unnerves the American slightly. Such an expression should never appear on his sweet and gentle brother's face. Such hateful, angry words should never escape those soft lips.

"Just… just go to bed, ok? It's been a long day. I'll clean up." The Canadian turns and begins to clear away the table.

"H-Hey, you can't tell me what to do, Matt. You're not my dad—"

Matthew slams the dishes back onto the table and whips around. "I KNOW I'M NOT YOUR DAD! HE'S DEAD! I'M ALL YOU HAVE LEFT! SO JUST GO TO YOUR FUCKING ROOM ALREADY!"

Alfred, pale and visibly shaken by his brother's cruel words, quietly turns away and goes to his room. Matthew watches him leave, then sinks into his chair and rests his head in his hands. He vaguely wonders when the tears falling down his face had started.

* * *

May I just say that it feels good to be back~

Reviews are lovely and appreciated, as always.


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